Shame and Denial
by Tristana
Summary: ANIMAMUNDI:DARK ALCHEMIST Wolfgang is a rational man. Then why can't he just cope with it? Because when you end up being Count Sandwich's toy, denial is your only protection. And indeed, denial protected him - until now. YAOI SMUT! Sammich/Wolfie


**Title: **Sham(e) and Denial

**Author**: Me, aka Lokesa, Tristana, Raven, Slave, whatever suits you best.

**Fandom**: Animamundiark Alchemist - because there are not enough of those.

**Pairing**: Count Sandwich/Wolfgang Zaberisk (even less of those)

**Rating**: Not PG... more like... NC-17, i.e. M.^^

**Warning**: Not only it's smut... but it's Sammich smut. So a tad bit violent - well, not to me, but so you know: Sammich DOESN'T cuddle!

**Plot/Summary**: This is SMUT, man!

**Note**: Now now... Why should I write smut again when knowing that I don't really like PWP myself... 1- It feels good once in a while. 2- I love to send this kind of stuff to Master and other friends (I admit it, I love to make people upset.). 3- We need more Animamundi fanfics out there peeps!!

So here I am: You like Animamundi but PWP puts you off? Then write and help us to spread the love because those pretty boys/maniacs/demons/angels/sadists need you!

Until then, Enjoy!

* * *

It was not love – it was not even lust. Just a sick, animalistic search for completion, a fleeting span of time to let out the beast within. Had this man been human in his life, he was not anymore. And he was the one to blame. Teeth and eyes clenched shut against reality, he tried to fight the urge to scream in pain. But the searing, relentless pain has closed its jaws on him and there was no way out. He was hurting like Hell but he could not help it anymore. No matter how terrible the man towering him was, he was worse still. Oh, so much worse. And this single thought was enough for his throat to constrict painfully against the bile that threatened to rise.

It was blinding, white hot pain piercing his flesh and bones. His fingers desperately clutched the sheets underneath but nothing would shake off this feeling. He was a whore, a slave, used and abused to satisfy this man's sick desires. He would laugh at himself – how was he calling sick? He could have run away – he could have tried. But he had not. Still he lingered in this place as he hungered for this scorching heat, this cutting shame. And still, he justified it by his constant search for knowledge, arguing that it was the only way.

The slim body domineering him felt so hot, so strong… and inhumanly good. Under normal circumstances, he would not even start to envision saying something like this but he would be lying otherwise. Their bodies entwined – he felt sharp teeth and nails biting deep into his skin, as if he was trying to tearing his wings apart, devouring them. Blood rushed under his skin to the angry welts thus created and his heart was racing against his ribcage just as he bit his own hand until skin broke. He would not scream – he would never let him know.

Angry, burning tears spilled on his cheeks as hands gripped his hips for him to keep from moving. For his tormentor was not done, he wanted him to feel him, to feel his hard, searing length burying deep inside him. Possessing him. Involuntarily, he jerked backward against him – the fire in his lower body erupting through his veins, pooling in his painful erection. Another reason for him to feel so ashamed – how could he explain that he was turned on by having another man having his way with him? He could not.

Shame was everything now – it was all he wanted to feel when a sinfully hot tongue licked his neck, teeth barely touching his kin. It was shame that made him quiver when a slender, almost bony, hand wrapped itself around his weep member, stroking him in time. It was shame - not ecstasy - that burst in his body and had him crying out against his will.

No matter how hard he tried, this man overwhelmed him, making him feel so weak he could not stand it. And soon, he could not go on pretending he did not feel anything as his hips rose to meet the thrust of his captor, gasps born of painful pleasure pouring from his mouth.

Oh yes, he was ashamed. But even shame made him burn hotter, making him ache for release. He was so close – he wanted to die. He did not want it – never wanted it – and yet, he was just a toy being played. He knew he should stop fighting it, that he was denying it for naught. But denial was all he had left.

He felt like dying when he slammed into him full force – the hand on his member was no longer soothing, nails scraping his heated skin. It hurt, everything hurt – and he craved this pain, so he would have a reason to claim he hated what was done to him. His heart was a mess and he felt like it would burst under the overload of sensations – teeth sunk into his skin, he felt them on his spine. He was a doll – his mouth was eating him alive, his hands were tearing him apart. He was violated – it was not raped – he agreed to this long ago – but it did not stop shame from scorching his mind and soul with each powerful stroke. It was a drug – it hurt him, destroyed him – but always he came back for his fix. It was sick, he was sick.

He was so close _– I hate this_. Teetering on the brink of insanity – _I hate you_. Ready to fall into Hell's deepest pit – _please make it stop_. Pleasure overrode pain – _do it again_. Body tensed and lips bled – _give me this shame_. His soul was screaming – _release me!_

He jerked helplessly under his touch, quivering – that mouth, that hand – to feel him so deep inside. Self-control shattered and his whole body shook – clenching hard on the hardness within him. A wail erupted from his mouth – teeth sunk deeper still – the hand clutched him harder – as he came, his white essence spilling on his body – on the bed. But his tormentor did not let go, caressing him as he rode his orgasm until he was entirely spent. And still, he plunged deeper in his body with a hiss as his walls constricted him further. Once, twice – and he hit his climax with a hoarse cry as he coated his insides with his burning seed. And went on and again – and he let him, clamping on him intermittently as much as he could, milking him dry. And this time, it was not shame – not even denial. He would never know what it was that made him be so compliant. He did not want to know.

Both men crashed onto the soiled mattress in a tangle of limbs, sweaty skin and laboured breaths. He felt him pulling out and he sighed at the sudden loss as he lay on his side, refusing to look at the other man. He almost heard him smirking smugly.

"No matter what you say…" Sweaty fingers stroked his silvery hair. "You hunger for it, sweet alchemist of mine." _My puppet_. The words were left unsaid but still hung in the air.

And like always, Wolfgang would not reply – _Despite what you think, you are the child – a slave by your impossible desires._

* * *

You might want to kill me. Be assured that I shall not die before having done my Meffie cosplay because I worship this horny devil (as in, devil with horns, whatever crossed your mind) and his haircut.^^ Among other thing - and I want an excuse to glomp Dashwood senseless because I just saw pics of inu!/neko!dash and I can't help but squee!

See you around guys!


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